Back in Town
by Tequila Sunrise
Summary: Oh the shark has pretty teeth, dear... (AU season 45 Big Bad's back)


_Oh, the shark, has, pretty teeth, dear....and he shows them, pearly white   
__Just a jackknife, has MacHeath, yeah.....and he keeps it, out of sight  
_  
Spike strolls. He smothers the instinct within him to run, snatching at everything, left and right. He's learned well to push that instinct back, and he is, after all, a skilled masochist. So he fills his senses with the smells of the street, much like a tourist, their first time in New York City. The air is its own entity, so many distinctly different smells curling around the streets to create one, thick, layer. The tourist delights in them, breathing deep to distinguish the smog from the hotdogs, from the expensive perfumes, and the smell the city itself gives off. Peeling away the layers, till it's not a thick blanket, but more of a carefully crafted puzzle of scents.  
  
Spike loves it, pulling the scents apart, restraining himself enough to do so. Angelus would be proud. A scowl takes his face, but his mouth is watering so he discards the thought for now.  
  
He scents the air carefully, understanding the thick, damp tang that under- sweeps some of the people he passes on the street. Their eyes connect and each keeps walking, the other's power duly noted. It's been a while and Spike forgets how good it feels. But he hasn't, not really. Not when he sleeps the forgotten power, the dreams haunting him, cold pig blood mocking him, leather slapping at his ankles like a nipping, teasing, angry puppy, leaving him aching for a kill in more ways than one.  
  
_When the shark bites, with his teeth, dear....scarlet billows start to spread  
Fancy gloves, though, wears MacHeath, yeah...so there's not a trace, hmmmm of red  
  
_The attack is wordless, Spike doesn't waste time or effort on speech. One hand holds her still, her wrist in his grip, and the other slides up her ribs, delicately... delicately. His thumb skims the underside of her breast, reverently, but possessively. He leans in close, his nose brushing delicately against her neck, and almost moans.  
  
The fear adds another layer beneath the smog, and Spike has no trouble figuring that piece of the puzzle. He delights in it, knowing exactly where to fit the next piece, touching his fangs against her throat -balls over brains, he decides- and bites in deeply, not even testing. Warm, sweet God it's warm, hot, and this time he does whimper, a nice melody to hers. Someone watching might even get the wrong idea.  
  
Feeding, to him, has never been the spiritual event it was for Angelus. Feeding has always been like sex. Taking something, enjoying it, and tossing it aside when you were finished with nothing but warm memories. His lips curl at her throat into a smirk while he drinks, letting some to slide wetly across his cheek. More like a one-night-stand then, he guesses.  
  
And with a little sigh, she's gone; body slumping against him, head lolling backwards. His tongue peeks out first at one, then the opposite corner of his mouth, leaching every taste of her sweat, last spray of perfume, and blood away from his lips. He drops her carelessly, her frame making a sickening crack against the brick of the alley wall, and an answering one as her body slides to the concrete. Her hand and some of her hair is visible from the street. A sad mockery of what once made her alive, vibrant, silly, studious... is smudged at her throat.  
  
_On the sidewalk...Sunday morning, ...lies a body oozin' life  
Someone's sneakin' 'round the corner...is the someone, Mack the Knife?   
From a tugboat.... by the river..... a cement bag's, droopin' down   
Yeah, the cement's just for the weight, dear...bet you Mack, he's back in town  
  
_Spike's head tips in careful consideration. In wary hunting he would usually slit the throat, hiding the bite marks... at least for a while. He smirks and then skillfully closes the readily waiting knife in his hand, sliding it back, unused, into his duster.  
  
_Looky here Louie Miller, disappeared dear...after drawing, out his cash  
And MacHeath spends, like a sailor...did our boy do, somethin' rash?  
  
_He walks away from the alley, shoulders back, giving a smug smile as a man moves discreetly out of his way, while his date carefully avoids his eyes, but follows his form down the street. He sees a smudge of crimson-brown across his thumb, and brings it to his mouth, cleaning it neatly. At a disdainfully amused look from a pedestrian, Spike's lips curl over still human teeth, satisfied into smiling when the bastard bumps into a pole backing away from him. His tongue trailing over his teeth, he wonders how Buffy will take the news.  
  
_Oh, the line forms on the right, dears.....now that Macky's back in town  
  
_Okay guys, a little dark, but... ya know. Anyway, not mine, blah blah. JAMES MARSTERS SHAVED. HIS. HEAD! -takes a deep soothing breath- Okay. I'm better now. For the record, you should listen to Louis Armstrong sing this while you read. Kisses. Oh... A review or two? That would be real nice, yeah, thanks. pointed look  
  
Tequila.


End file.
